Fallout
by Secret Spy Guy
Summary: AU.Skeleton Key. In the aftermath of Sarov's nuclear blast, Alex finds himself trapped in the madman's clutches, forced to watch as his country suffers. After a nearly impossible escape, he takes refuge in America and starts fighting back...
1. Failure

**Spy Guy: Hello. This is an Alex Rider AU fanfiction taking place during and after Skeleton Key. The premise is: Instead of giving up on Alex, he allows him one more chance and succeeds with his plan. I've had this posted for a while, and recently decided to go through and clean it up a bit. A lot has changed so old readers should start from the beginning (even though this chapter has remained mostly intact, the others are quite different.) **

**Thank you for reading. :D And, please review!**

**-Lor**

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Prologue: Failure

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Alex had never thought that a plane ride could be so agonizing.

The feeling of failure sat heavily in his stomach like a stone, keeping him from drifting off into oblivion. He couldn't tear his mind away from the bomb sitting at the harbor. With every passing second, its timer counted down.

It wouldn't be long before it would reach zero.

The boy felt ashamed of himself, sitting in a plush leather seat, eating well-prepared food and breathing clean, circulated air. Soon, thousands would be dead, while the survivors...the _survivors_ would rot from the inside out, poisoned by the tainted air and water.

Everything would be changed.

"You truly _do_ have the spirit of a soldier, Alex Rider." Sarov murmured softly, fixing his captive with icy blue eyes. He seemed to be sizing him up, almost analyzing his reaction. Alex tried to make his face a blank slate, but knew that he was failing miserably. He couldn't hide the powerful feelings of pain and despair that showed clearly on his features. Especially not from Sarov. The old man could read him like an open book.

"Resourceful and quick. I will have to watch you." The General continued in a cold voice. Alex knew that the man was still angry about the stun grenade. After they had returned to the plane, Sarov's henchman, Conrad, had been ordered to check all of the boy's pockets. He quickly found the stick of Smither's gum, and soon it was in the trash bin, eliminating Alex's last chance for escape.

The boy pretended not to listen, turning instead to look out the window. All he could see were dense clouds, filled to the brim with precipitation. Soon, they would spill over, and shower the earth below them with either a cold rain, or a soft snow. He wished that he could be down there, among those people, oblivious to the tragedy that was about to befall them. He wished that he could warn them...

He wished that he could warn _anybody._

"It will be a while until we reach Moscow." The General said, his voice too calm for the disaster that he had just set into motion. "You should sleep Alex. It has been an eventful day for you. You must be exhausted."

Alex refused to acknowledge the man's words, staring fixedly out the window.

"You can ignore me all you want, boy." Sarov continued, a menacing tone creeping into his words. "But once you have nothing to return to, you will cling to me. _Russia_ will be your new pillar of strength. Soon, you will speak her language, and breathe her air. You will cheer her name as she emerges from the ashes of this old world. In time, you will _love_ her. What do you say to that?"

"I say that I'm _British."_ Alex hissed, reeling on the old man. "I don't like what MI6 has done, but to--"

"To kill people is wrong?" Sarov snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You are such a smart child, and yet you are so _naïve_."

"At least take me back home." The boy growled, meeting his captor's gaze for the first time since the bomb's activation. "I have friends there."

To Alex's despair, the old General shook his head, knitting his fingers together as he sat up in his own seat, suddenly very solemn.

"I cannot allow that, Alex." Sarov murmured. "I would be signing your death warrant. Perhaps, years in the future, you will be able to _visit_, but, for now, you must stay with me...where you are safe."

"I don't want to be safe!" The young spy shouted, letting out a frustrated scream. He closed his eyes, mentally berating himself for his failure. So many people would die, because he wasn't fast enough...because he wasn't smart enough, or good enough. And now...he couldn't go home. He would have to watch as the world fell around him, from the safety of a cushy prison cell.

The boy didn't want to be the rich son of a powerful man. He didn't want to be protected while his country died. He wanted to be suffering with them...beside them.

Why couldn't Sarov understand that?

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	2. Survival

**Spy Guy: For you old readers, this is the chapter where things start to get different. For new ones, I hope you like the changes I made, and please drop a review by. :D **

**I have been using Alexei in Cyrillic for my page breakers in the original document, and have decided to simply leave them there. I hope this gets rid of any confusion. :D Cryillic is damn hard stuff to figure out. **

**-Lor **

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Chapter 1: Survival

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**

Alex stared into the cold, hard lens of the camera, allowing someone to adjust his short hair one last time. They ran a sharp-toothed comb through his blond roots, plastering it tighter against his scalp. Alex simply endured the treatment in silence, feeling blush applied to his cheeks, and paint to his lips. Appearances were important, and he had become too pale to look healthy. Certain measures needed to be taken, to ensure his place in the public eye.

At least, that was what Sarov said.

_"Pyat...Chetyre...Tree..."_

The crew counted down, as the president took a seat in his chair, allowing another worker to finish primping his own hair. Alex felt anxiety growing within him as the countdown ended, and they were live.

"_Good evening_." Sarov said. Alex took a deep breath. This was the last place he wanted to be right now...on live TV sitting beside the man who was responsible for everything wrong in his life...

Every day, Alex struggled to survive in the president's domain, putting on an act just to please him. The boy ran with his captor everyday and allowed his face to be shown in the cinemas. He kept his mouth in check, studied like a scholar, and smiled on cue.

Like a good boy...

_"The world is changing once again." _Sarov continued._ "and many people are afraid. Once the world emerges from this upset, things will not be the same. I understand how many feel about that." _

Sarov wasn't just addressing his country. He was addressing the world. _His_ world, as he called it when no one could hear. He was speaking, so the world could hear him. So the world could hear his words before he bore down on them, and forced their compliance.

_"Many are unsure about the refugees gathering at our borders."_ The former general continued. _"Mother Russia is large. We can open our doors to those willing to follow our ways. As long as they are willing to work, and follow our rules, we will let in those who will follow us forward."_

Alex hadn't left the compound since the explosion. Everything he knew of the world came either from Sarov, or the television the man kept locked up in his den. Society was changing rapidly; governments falling, the balance of power shifting...and at the head of it all was Sarov himself, holding his nation together with brute military force.

Alex didn't know how much more he could take...

The boy was silent as Sarov continued to speak, walking through his social reforms, standing behind his heavy police presence.

_"The criminals on the streets are intolerable. I must wash their negative impact from the streets. The thieves, the rapists, the prostitutes. The gangs that try to take control from me. Their hands shall no longer be in Russia's business. There is no longer a place for them in _**_this_**_ society!"_

When the broadcast finally came to its end, Sarov called Alex over, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. The boy didn't push away...he allowed the man to embrace him, knowing the consequences if he pulled away...

On their first night in Russia, Sarov had told him that Russians did not live...they survived. Life was all about toughing it out, and being proud of your hardship.

Alex knew that he would have to endure...if he ever wanted his freedom again. If he ever wanted to find Jack, or Tom, or Sabina, he would have to wait...

He would have to survive...

Alex remained silent as the cameras closed in on his face, transmitting his countenance to every cinema in Russia. The people were watching him...And soon...the world would be watching him as well. Maybe someone would recognize him Maybe not.

Maybe someone would save him.

Until then, he could only survive.

**Алексей**

Jack Starbright only saw his face after she was back in the United States, working a dead end job at a diner in Florida. She was one of the lucky few allowed to make it back to America before the waterways closed. MI6 gave her ample warning, and she fled Great Britain, leaving behind the place where she had once looked after Alex Rider.

She would miss him so much...

MI6 had told her that he was MIA...but, as usual, they refused to give her the details.

Regardless of the means, Jack was back in her homeland, without a good job, and without a working car. Inside, she knew that things could be much worse...but she had never been very good at logical thinking. If she had possessed any foresight at all, she would have finished college instead of becoming the housekeeper for a British spy. If she had only done that, then, she might have been able to find a decent job to support herself.

Go figure.

Jack was cleaning off a table in the diner—a particularly messy one, covered in large globs of ketchup and mustard--while humming a light tune to herself, in an attempt to stave off immense boredom.

An old TV rested above the counter, droning out some world news channel day in and day out. Jack never paid much attention to it. Everyone was gearing up for a major war, but she didn't want any part of it. All she wanted was to be back in England, with Alex, having tea and biscuits, and doing other quaint stereotypical British things that she sure as hell couldn't do in Maine. The monotony of her dead-end job was killing her...and she needed something more.

"Not this shit again." An old man growled from his perch at the counter. Jack looked up from her work, taking a moment to see what the customer was talking about. Angry customers were never good. They tended to like picking fights and that _wasn't_ the kind of something she had in mind for the day.

To her relief, the customer was only glaring at the TV with cold eyes, mumbling darkly beneath his breath. Jack turned her attention to the screen, to see for herself just what had the man so riled up.

And then she knew.

It was yet another clip of the Russian President, former General Alexei Sarov, taken from a European TV station. Jack was getting really tired of seeing the man's face plastered over the television. He was everywhere, despite the communist paranoia that was quickly settling over the country. Those who supported Sarov flocked together, rallying and recruiting more of their own. In turn, scared followers of democracy lashed out...

It was just like the 50's all over again.

Jack stared hard at the TV, glaring daggers at the screen. So many people had died since the man had come to power. There were thousands killed in the initial blast, with thousands more dying in Finland, Norway, and the United Kingdom. Then, there were those who had been murdered in the United States; victims of paranoia and hate. All the former general did was bring death to the world.

How could anyone support him?

Jack watched with growing disgust as Sarov continued to speak in thick Russian. His real voice was muffled by the newscaster who chattered over him, saying simple trivial things that didn't really matter. Jack was about to turn away when the camera panned to the right, revealing a new face...once that made her pause...

A teenage boy, with blond hair and a crisp black suit rested beside the president, his lips pursed as he exercised silence. The cameraman zoomed in on his face, showcasing his light brown eyes, and blank expression.

Jack felt her heart plummet.

_"This is Fourteen-year-old Alexei Yannovich Sarov." _The newscaster said. _"In his first public appearance since his father took power--"_

Jack felt her breath catch in her throat...she recognized him...she knew him.

His face was so familiar.

"Alex..." She whispered, her eyes widening. "Oh God...Alex..."

_"--not a native of Russia, but--"_

"Alex...no..."

She couldn't listen anymore. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be Alex. It was just some random kid who happened to look like him. Alex wouldn't...he wouldn't...

Jack dropped her washrag, running towards the back room, tears welling in her eyes.

She had thought that she was done crying months ago, but then...then she had seen _that boy_, and everything had reverted back to the way it had been. The woman reached a hand up to her face to wipe away the eyeliner and mascara running along her cheeks.

"Alex...it can't be you...Alex."

Jack pushed the tears from her eyes, trying to purge her mind of the familiar face superimposed on the body of one of the enemy.

Leaning against the wall in the lonely back room, Jack wished, more than anything, that she knew the truth...she wished, with all her heart, that she knew what had really happened to Alex Rider....

She wished that someone would tell her _something...

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	3. Cuts like a Knife

**Spy Guy: This is Chapter 3, and after this one, old readers, there will be a new chapter. I know you've been waiting a long time. i'm sorry. There were things in this story that just weren't working out. I hope you keep reading, and thanks for sticking with me. :D **

**-Lor**

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**Chapter 3: Cuts like a Knife**

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**

_Pain...white hot and sharp against his back...The sound of whistling ringing in his ears. The raw feeling of exposed skin caressed by a breeze. The cold, cool blood that ran in rivulets across his flesh._

Alex had to struggle not to cry.

He wrung the blood from a formerly white washcloth, watching as the water ran down the drain, stained a sickening orange-ish pink.

The pain was horrible, racing through his veins. It was nothing like being kicked in the gut, or punched in the face again and again and again. It wasn't like being tied too tightly, or held under the water, unable to breathe...It was like being cut and carved by a sharp knife.

Alex hated the whip...

A small voice in the back of his head told him that he should be stronger. He _was_ a spy after all...or had been before the world ended. Would _Ian_ have begged for the pain to stop?

No.

Alex gripped the edge of the sink, his tired muscles quaking in protest. The rush of fear that had thundered through his veins only a while ago had left him weak. The boy knew that his wounds would have to be treated eventually, but it was humiliating to be so vulnerable before his enemy.

It was humiliating to be held captive by a man who seemed to hold all the cards.

"Alexei?" A voice called through the bathroom door. "Let me in."

It was Vyacheslav.

Alex refused to reply, trying to work some of the dried blood spatters from his hair with the damp cloth. The teacher's fist pounded on the door a few more times, before he fell to silence.

"Alexei, I have bandages, and antiseptic. Let me in."

With a reluctant sigh, the boy shuffled to the bathroom door, unlocking it, and allowing the old man inside. Vyacheslav was holding a black tin kit in one hand, and carrying a bundle of towels in the other.

"_Bozhye moy, _Alexei." He said, shaking his head sadly. "You are a foolish child."

Alex said nothing in reply, wetting the rag again as the old man began treating the numerous criss-crossed cuts marring the skin of his back.

His flesh burned as Vyacheslav dabbed at the lacerations with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. The teacher slowly and deliberately wiped away all the dried blood, making sure that each wound was clean. Then, he handed a new rag to Alex, asking him to run it beneath warm water.

It felt good when the man ran it gently across his back.

The two were silent as the Russian took out a roll of gauze from his kit, wrapping it in strips around the boy's torso. He fastened the ends in place with metal clips, and set the roll aside, taking up the wet cloth again.

"Does survival not matter to you?" Vyacheslav asked, wiping away the last few stray flecks of blood. "Do you _want_ him to kill you?"

Alex was silent for a few moments, before a soft reply ran through his bloodless lips.

"I don't know..."

After that, they were silent.

**Алексей**

Alex carefully slipped a nightshirt over his bandages, letting the thin, baggy material hang on his sore frame. Carefully, so as not to upset the numerous lacerations on his back, the boy climbed into bed, lying on his stomach, hating the feeling of the rough gauze around his torso. Alex gripped the warm sheets beneath him, burying his face in the pillow as the pain continued to hound his mind. He couldn't escape it…with every breath he took, his back _burned._

He was tired of being humiliated...tired of being helpless.

He was just...tired.

That night Alex had trouble sleeping, and in the morning, when he awoke, the welts on his back were swollen and tender, making it almost impossible to move. As a nameless servant pulled him from his bed for breakfast, he could feel the ill-formed scabs tearing apart, adding to the raw agony he felt…

**Алексей**

Alex walked slowly down the staircase, dressed in a collared shirt and khakis, as the servant had ordered. The old woman pushed him along, growling darkly in Russian as they marched onward to the breakfast nook where Sarov waited, eating his meal and reminiscing about the glory days.

The breakfast nook was a small room, surrounded by windows, and heated by the warm rays of the sun. Sarov sat at the quaint table in the room's center, reading a thick book, while sipping water from a glass. Absentmindedly, Alex reached up to touch the bump on his head from the night before...and shivered.

The boy cautiously approached, taking his seat and waiting to be served. Upon his arrival, Sarov put the book down, staring up at his hostage with icy blue eyes.

"_Dobraye utra, Alexei." _The man said in greeting, his face void of all emotion.

"_Dobraye_ _utra_, _Atyets."_

There was no hesitation today, no pause to think. Alex called the man his father, and bit back the sour taste it left in his mouth. Sarov regarded him for a moment before smiling smugly, taking a sip from his glass.

"You will notice we did not go running today." The president continued, turning to a small bowl of raspberries before him. The man daintily speared one with his fork, before bringing it to his mouth. He didn't appear to be in any hurry, and ate a few more, wiping his lips with a white linen napkin when he was satisfied. "I thought that you would be tired after what happened last night."

Sarov's smile grew as Alex fought to keep his expression stoic, refusing to give the man any more satisfaction.

Another female servant approached the table, setting down a bowl of the red fruit before him. Alex thanked her, and began his own meal, feeling each of the berries sinking like stone in his stomach. It made him sick, and he quickly gave up, pushing the bowl away.

"I have given you another chance to live." The former general murmured darkly, stabbing a raspberry with a violent jab of his fork. Small droplets of red juice splattered the napkin at the man's throat...and the sight reminded Alex of blood. "You have been raised to believe in foolish things, and it is my job to reeducate you, like I will reeducate your homeland."

Alex bit back a reply, fingernails digging into his palms.

Sarov smiled.

"You can have this day free, Alexei." The president continued. "Go outside, enjoy the sun. Here." He slid his book across the table. Alex caught it, his eyes quickly scanning the title, which was, thankfully, in English.

_War and Peace_

"I had this brought here just for you." Sarov said, finishing his meal. "It is a classic in the western world as well, and quite famous. I was hoping you would read it before, at the _Casa de Oro_, but alas, things didn't go as well as I would have hoped. Now, you have time."

"Thank you." Alex said, trying to ignore the glint of cruelty in his captor's eyes.

**Алексей**

Dinner that night consisted of shchi, which was a type of cabbage soup made with various types of meats and vegetables. Alex dipped his spoon once again into the broth, carefully bringing it to his lips, feeling the sour liquid burn as it rushed down his throat. It tasted like drinking brine, but the boy stomached it anyway, trying to gather up as many globs of cabbage as he could to dull the taste.

"Did you enjoy your day?" Sarov asked, casually downing his meal.

"I got a lot of reading done." The boy replied, dipping a thick slice of rye bread into the concoction.

Sarov smiled broadly.

"I'm glad your day went as well as mine." He said, swallowing a spoonful of soup. "Today, my men stumbled upon a mafia hideout, one of the main ones. Most of the conspirators, were eliminated on the spot, but the leaders, will be brought to Moscow tomorrow, and effectively dealt with there."

Sarov paused for a moment, delicately dabbing his bread in the soup, taking a small bite, before continuing.

"The executions will be broadcast live, so the rest of their sorry lot can see what fate has in store for them. And of course, I will be making a grand speech, with you by my side, of course."

"A public...execution?" Alex asked, looking up from his meal, eyes wide in shock.

Sarov laughed.

"It's the easiest way to teach the masses a lesson, and I think it's something you need to see. We'll be jogging before we leave, so make sure to get to sleep quickly."

"_Atyets--"_ The boy began, only to be cut off by Sarov's cold eyes.

"It will be good for you, boy." The man replied. "Don't make excuses. You're a spy. You've seen death before, right?"

Alex nodded, trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

"Then this should be nothing. They are criminals Alexei. They deserve this."

"May I please be excused?" The boy asked, barely holding back all he wanted to say. He wanted to say that even criminals deserved a second chance, and maybe, not all of them deserved to die. He wanted to say that a public execution was wrong, and that it went against everything he had ever been taught...but...he knew what Sarov would say to his words, and so kept them behind pursed lips.

"You will come to see it my way, boy." The former general growled. "You will find that nothing is sweeter than watching your enemies perish..._nothing_."

Alex looked away, setting his spoon over his bowl, signaling that he was done. Sarov frowned, but said nothing else, waving his captive away, before returning to his meal.

As Alex walked up the steps, a nameless guard on his heels, he realized that he was shaking again...was he afraid?

Of course he was. He didn't want to watch people die. There had been enough of that already.

He wanted out, but knew that rescue wouldn't come that night...not with the bars on the window, and the locks on the door. Tomorrow, he would finally leave the compound...but not under the circumstances he wanted. He would have to watch people die.

He wanted out.

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	4. All in a Row

**Spy Guy: Here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. I hope it doesn't disappoint, even though it's kinda short. **

**Thanks so much for reading! **

**-Lor**

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Chapter 4: All in a Row

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Tulip Jones leaned over the desk of her superior, spreading out the photographs and screenshots that proved her word. For a moment, Alan Blunt remained coldly silent, his fingers laced together as he contemplated what he saw. So long, he had been denying it, but, with the pictures laid out before him, the truth was all too clear, and he could ignore it no longer.

Alex Rider was alive.

"We have no way to confirm it," Mrs. Jones continued, picking up a photocopy ripped straight from a Russian broadcast. "But you know it's true. Considering that it was Sarov Alex was ultimately tangling with. And the call from the airport..."

"Of course it's Alex." Blunt sighed. "Sarov _wants_ us to know and he's made no attempt to hide his 'son's' identity. You can tell me all you want, Mrs. Jones, but there is nothing I can do to get him back. Right now, the country is more important..." He paused a moment, wondering if he should continue. He knew the thoughts in his head were harsh...but... Mrs. Jones was the person he trusted most (though he would never admit it aloud). He wanted to share his dark thoughts with her...because the dark thoughts were part of his job.

"If anything," Blunt began, his gray eyes staring down at his desk. "you should be worried about what Alex can do in Russian hands. Everything he's done for us...he can do for them as well."

The old man cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose, waiting for a response.

After a few moments, Tulip nodded in defeat, silently gathering up her papers. Blunt knew that she would keep them in a file somewhere. Children were a soft spot for her, and she had never approved of using Alex in the first place.

But...there was really nothing he could do. The country was more important than one boy.

"If Sarov only wanted to use him..." Mrs. Jones said, turning to her superior, rolling a peppermint into her cheek. "Why would he keep him out in the open? Wouldn't he be better hidden away?"

"Who knows." Blunt replied, shaking his head sadly. "Maybe Sarov has a plan--"

"Or maybe, he's just insane."

And with that, Tulip turned on her heel, storming from the room. Blunt pressed a hand to his forehead, sighing again, closing his tired eyes. He was getting too old to be dealing with all of this. The world was in shambles, crumbling around him with each passing second...

Maybe, _Alex_ was the lucky one...

If only, he could believe that.

**Алексей**

The keys of an old-fashioned typewriter echoed loudly in the small room. Each sound send a jarring pain through the man's skull...

He knew that if he was heard, it would be the end, and everything he had done... that he had accomplished for the people...would be for nothing. It would be better for him to simply put a bullet in his brain and go out with _some _shred of dignity. He would never be humiliated...would never be eliminated like a dog.

In the still night, a lone man typed by candlelight...one hand limp by his side, gripping a tiny revolver...

Soon...it would begin.

**Алексей**

The last time he had been in Sarov's limo he was handcuffed to the seat. The time before that, he had been hiding in the trunk. This time, though, he simply had Vyacheslav beside him, holding tightly to his arm as he was bundled inside. Sarov was dressed in his military finest, medals shining in the dim Russian sun, while Alex was wearing a full-piece suit, his hair slicked back with gel.

Despite his age, and slim build, Vyacheslav was strong, holding his charge's arm in an iron grip. It seemed that there was more hidden behind the man's face than first met the eye. Alex could feel the raw strength bubbling beneath the surface...and knew that his teacher could be just as dangerous as Sarov.

"You don't let that boy out of your sight, do you hear me?" The president growled as he took a seat beside Alex, rolling leather gloves over his hands. "I have no qualms about throwing you alongside the vermin."

Vyacheslav nodded, murmuring something in Russian. Sarov nodded as well, replying gravely.

Alex was nestled between the two men, staring at the window as the limo began to move. He could hear its wheels grinding against the stone driveway, as it left the compound, moving gracefully through the heavy line of security at the gate.

"A little, father and son outing, isn't it?" Sarov asked, smiling slightly. "I thought about going to see a show afterwards, but, alas, there is more trouble brewing, and I would rather have you safe in the compound, Alexei."

The boy held back a scoff. Safe? If he was safe, would his back feel raw? Would he be afraid of Sarov's anger...of the red that crept up the man's face when pushed too far? Would he be afraid of the pain...the beatings...the feeling of a belt across his skin...of a whip?

No. If he were safe, really safe, he wouldn't be afraid at all. He would feel protected, and be surrounded by the people who loved him.

Tom...

Jack...

Silently, the limo rolled onto the road, flanked by other cars, all guarding the president of their country, willing to follow him to the death should the occasion arise.

Alex almost wished it would.

**Алексей**

There was a row of ragged men, at least twenty of them, lined up against the concrete wall of a derelict warehouse. Their hands were chained behind their backs, eyes blindfolded, mouths gagged. Alex stared ahead in horror, unable to look away. Many of the prisoners were greatly injured, limbs twisted, and clothes soaked in blood.

There was a barbed wire fence surrounding the area, soldiers everywhere, fingers on the triggers of their guns. Vyacheslav was almost plastered to Alex's side, and the boy saw the man reach into his jacket, fingers wrapping around a shining weapon of his own.

Crowds of people were gathered on the other side of the fence, chanting Sarov's name, waving banners and signs emblazoned with his face. Someone struck up a chorus of the national anthem, and a thunder of voices followed in discord.

After a few moments, Sarov stood to face them, stepping onto a raised dais, instantly silencing his people with a wave of his arm. Behind them, soldiers lined up in front of the prisoners, taking aim...and waiting for the command.

"You're going to have to watch, Alexei." Vyacheslav whispered in the boy's ear. "If you don't watch, Sarov will be mad. Keep your eyes open."

"This is wrong." Alex growled in reply.

"This is life." The teacher replied, pulling away. "Just keep a stiff upper lip ole' chum." Vyacheslav continued, trying to impersonate a British accent. "Isn't that what your people always say?"

The boy simply shook his head, turning toward Sarov, trying to focus on anything but the prisoners and the men who were poised to murder them.

Alex could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest, his palms becoming sticky with sweat. He tried to focus on his captor, but found it impossible. In just a few moments, the men behind him would die. Whatever reasons they had for being in the mafia...surely it didn't warrant death...at least not like this. Not out in the open, humiliated. Not blind and helpless. Just...not like this.

Sarov began a charged speech, speaking too fast for Alex to understand. Someone had given him a microphone and his voice crackled through old speakers, bouncing off the concrete warehouse behind. All around, cameras rolled, showing everyone what was happening on the outskirts of town, to a group of convicts who were to be put down for their crimes.

Time seemed to still as Sarov turned around, the cheers of his people falling on his back. Alex could feel the president's eyes on him, commanding him not to look away. The boy dug his fingernails into his palms, heart beating unbearably fast...

And then, Sarov gave the signal...

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**Spy guy: sorry about the brutal cliffhanger. I had originally planned to make this chapter longer, but it just came out like this, and...I could have continued it, but that would mean i was giving up a perfect opportunity. But, thanks for reading everyone. If you ahve any questions or comments, please drop me a review, I would very much appriciate it. :D **

**-Lor**

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